


two turtle doves

by ravels (orphan_account)



Category: Phandom/The Fantastic Foursome (YouTube RPF)
Genre: Baking, Christmasfic, Fluff, M/M, and stuff like that, mentions of food, parent!phan, putting presents under the tree
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-12-17
Updated: 2016-12-17
Packaged: 2018-09-09 02:42:09
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,363
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8872597
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/ravels
Summary: to say that christmas eve in the howell-lester household was a very busy event would be almost akin to saying, "the sun is rather warm."or, a quick obligatory christmasfic featuring parent!phan, baking, and milo the corgi.





	

**Author's Note:**

> warnings for mentions of food

To say that Christmas Eve dinner in the Howell-Lester household was a very busy event would be almost akin to saying, “The sun is rather warm.”

As Dan stirred the gravy for the turkey, his three year old son Marc sat atop the counter with his feet dangling off the edge, pensively sucking molasses off of his thumb. Over at the oven, Phil was taking out the turkey with thick-mittened hands, and in the corner of the room six year old Lucy sat with Milo, petting his soft fur and keeping him occupied with a handful of treats.

“Lucy, can you take Milo outside for a minute? I have to finish up the pudding and I might need your help,” Dan called.

With a chirp of “Yes, Daddy!” Lucy hoisted the hefty corgi puppy onto her shoulder and carried him onto the balcony before coming back in and joining Dan behind the counter.

“Thanks, Lucy,” Dan said, picking Marc up off the counter and setting him down gently on the floor. “Marc, you help your Papa with the turkey, okay?”

Phil wiped his brow with a towel and threw Dan a grateful look as Marc toddled over to him.

Dan ducked down his head and spoke in a quiet, patient voice, looking into his daughter’s big blue eyes. “Now, Lucy, can you fetch me the flour? It’s in the big paper bag above the sugar, I think you know what I mean…”

-  


If one had told Dan Howell of fifteen years ago that in the year 2024 he would be standing next to his husband, Phil Lester, making mince pies for Santa with their three year old son on his shoulders and six year old daughter holding onto Phil’s little finger, he might have flown out the window and popped, like an over-inflated balloon.

Dan Howell of fifteen years previously had been the epitome of a cynic. He had no belief in love or faith or happiness, looking at the world and seeing a bleak, desolate landscape.

Dan Howell was now an utter softie, thanks to Phil’s influence and to the presence of Marc and Lucy in his life. Ever since he had started his own little family on the fringe of London, the world had started seeming just a little bit brighter.

He had been a father for five years now, having adopted Lucy in late 2019 and Marc in 2021. At this point, he could hardly imagine a life without them.

He had grown softer and gentler at the core, becoming gradually more careful about what he said and did. But he also became more fierce as well, because these were his kids, and he was willing to do whatever possible to ensure that they were happy and healthy.

(Lucy had come home one day from school in tears and told him, shakily, “There’s a boy in school who said that Santa isn't real and I’m dumb for thinking he is.”)

(“What’s his name? What's he look like? I’ll beat him up,” Dan had responded immediately, because of course Santa wasn’t real, but Lucy was six. She hadn't any need to know that.)

“Don't we need to mince something?” Phil interrupted, scratching his head and looking at the recipe. “These _are_ mince pies we’re making, right?”

“I don't know, Phil, where'd you get this recipe? It looks pretty questionable to me.”

Phil shrugged. “I found a recipe online and wrote it down.”

Dan sighed. “Phil, I can’t believe you. Since when do we _write down_ recipes? Who are you?”

“Silly Papa,” Marc giggled, Lucy nodding agreement.

Phil’s cheeks coloured a pale shade of pink. Dan offered him an easy smile as consolation.

-  


“Gamma Wester!” Lucy and Marc yelled excitedly at dinner, on Skype with their grandmother over turkey.

Phil’s mother had long since given up on teaching them to say “grandma.” She simply chuckled and said, “I hope you enjoy the presents your grandpa and I got you, they're very special!”

Lucy and Marc giggled, and Phil’s mum turned to Dan and Phil with a knowing twinkle in her eye. “I hope you all have a lovely Christmas. Santa’s going to be great to you lot this year!”

(Dan and Phil had called her too many times to count about proper gifts for a six year old and a four year old and had consequently ended up buying the entire toy store. Lucy and Marc were going to be spoiled beyond belief this year.)

-  


Milo was sleeping on Dan’s lap as he tucked Marc into bed. This didn't make things any easier for Dan, because Milo wasn't the thinnest of puppies— far from it. Milo was marvelously short and plump, and he tended to wobble rather than walk and fall asleep in unconventional places like inside shoes and on top of trash cans. He also loved peeing inside shoes, a habit that they were yet to find a way to curb.

When Dan made to set said puppy on the floor, however, Marc grabbed the heavy corgi and hugged him tightly to his chest. After providing Milo with a goodnight kiss and a “Merry Christmas, Milo,” Marc leaned back into the bed and said, very seriously, “I’m ready to go to bed now, Daddy.”

“Okay, Marc,” Dan replied easily, ruffling the three year old’s downy brown hair with a grin. “What book do you want me to read tonight?”

After a moment’s hesitation, Marc answered, “You pick.”

Dan raised his eyebrows slightly as he walked over to the bookshelf, pulling out a well-worn volume with a frayed red cover. His personal favorite Christmas story. A present from his mother.

 _“'Twas the night before Christmas, and all through the house, not a creature was stirring, not even a mouse,”_ he read, and on the word “mouse” he tickled a finger across Marc’s neck, eliciting a quiet giggle.

_“The stockings were hung by the chimney with care, in the hopes that St. Nicholas would soon be there…”_

_  
_ \- 

Dan rolled over in bed at 11:30 and shook Phil awake.

“Wh- wha-” Phil stammered groggily, but Dan silenced him with a _“Shhh!”_

“Presents. Tree. Nearly midnight, we have to go!” Dan whispered urgently, and Phil blinked the sleep out of his eyes.

They did their best to not creak the floorboards on their way down the stairs, tiptoeing carefully across the house and to the tree.

The presents were sitting, fully wrapped, in bows and ribbons (that Dan had done because of Phil’s unapologetically poor gift wrapping skills) in the cupboard under the stairs. Dan loaded them out, one by one, and began collecting them beneath the tree. There's loads of them— nineteen, last he counted.

Then, Phil took a bag of candy canes and hung some on the tree. The ones he didn't hang were stuffed in the stockings.

(Dan may or may not have swatted Phil over the top of the head with a box of chocolates during this process, but that’s a matter for another time.)

After he had finally stacked the final present, Dan turned around to see Phil wearing a Santa hat slightly askew on his head. It was sitting lopsided and wrinkled on his head, with the white puff on the end dangling over his face.

“Where’d you get that?” Dan asked, unimpressed.

“Found it,” Phil shrugged.

“Where though?”

Phil paused. “I might have a collection of these somewhere that you don’t know about. Maybe.”

“Oh my God, you _dork_ ,” Dan chuckled and suddenly one of them was leaning in and they were kissing, Phil’s hands threaded through Dan’s hair and Dan’s hands wrapped around Phil’s hat. They fell onto the couch like this, two turtle doves, both stuck in the limbo of a half kiss until drawing their lips together like magnets once again.

Dan pulled away suddenly, gasping and raising an eyebrow. “Wait. Did you already eat some of the Christmas cookies?”

Phil turned pink. “Maybe.”

“ _Philllllll_ —”

-  


(The next morning, Marc and Lucy came downstairs to see a mountain of presents beneath the tree and their parents sleeping beside it, hands linked.)

(So began Christmas morning every year in the Howell-Lester household. Old traditions never died.)

**Author's Note:**

> please note i am not christian nor am i british so i apologize for any cultural errors in this. otherwise i hope u enjoyed it!  
> cross-posted on tumblr: x


End file.
